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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27223447">a heart is beating, then is done</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/krete/pseuds/krete'>krete</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Desk Sex, Intoxication, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, as in claiming bite shit. you know how it is, sexy loss of humanity, uhh read the notes for extra warnings, vampire au logic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:35:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,161</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27223447</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/krete/pseuds/krete</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon and an exercise in moderation. Vampire AU.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a heart is beating, then is done</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>some additional notes:<br/>-self-harm: a character cuts open his wrist with a letter cutter<br/>-dubcon: consent is explicitly given, but under the influence (of.....blood)<br/>-this some INCREDIBLY trashy vampire au-typical shit</p><p>this is an au where elias is a vampire but also the entities still exist lol<br/>credits to my dear friend alex (who i love very much) for writing half of this for me &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Here,” Elias says, and dangles the packet of blood in front of Jon’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s pinching the plastic bag with two fingers, as if its very existence offends him — and considering what he’d prefer Jon do instead, it’s likely that it actually does. The red liquid inside wobbles a bit with the motion, and Jon notes with a queasy lurch that he can smell the sharp coppery stink of it through the tightly sealed packet. He instantly knows that it is, in fact, human blood, and an absurd mental image flashes in his mind of proper, elegant Elias sloppily pulling his fangs out of his victim and holding the bag up to the puncture wound to catch every last drop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> as messy as whatever it is you’re imagining, I’m sure. This blood was...given willingly. It’s the method with which I procured it that you might have qualms with,” Elias gives the bag another little shake to punctuate his statement. The second small waft of blood that floats towards him really shouldn’t be so effective in making his mouth water. “Simply put, I’ve got a little bit of pull at St. Barts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, this is—donor blood,” Jon scowls, making sure his displeasure leaks through every facet of his face and voice. “Blood that could’ve been used to treat someone sick and dying, but instead you’re giving it to me so I can gorge myself like...like an overgrown tick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gorge yourself? This is barely enough to tide you over, as it is.” When Elias seems to get the hint that Jon isn’t going to take the little packet from him, no matter how pale and miserable with hunger he looks at the moment, he sighs and places it gingerly back on his desk. “Look at yourself, Jon. You’re already one of the ‘sick and dying,’ with your little display of obstinacy. If you’d just—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>, become a monster? Like you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—Just do what’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>natural</span>
  </em>
  <span> for you to do—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not natural, it’s not—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—then maybe, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>wouldn’t have to take responsibility for </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>lack of control.” Elias leans back in his chair and fixes Jon with a look, the kind of authority-figure look that somehow still has sway over him, the caged desire to seek approval from Elias fluttering in his chest in the space where his heart no longer does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My...lack of control.” Jon hisses, slightly taken aback. Elias raises an eyebrow, and Jon would flush if he had blood left in his body to do so. ‘Lack of control’ was one way to put last week’s shameful display. He’d stalked that man for three blocks before he’d even realized he was doing it, so completely broken down with hunger and exhaustion that once he’d finally sunk his fangs into his poor victim, he’d just kept going until the man lay twitching and half-dead under him. Even then, Elias had managed to rescue him, showing up to wordlessly wrench Jon’s head back so that his fangs painfully popped out of the pierced flesh, the remaining stream of blood flowing from his victim’s neck barely a trickle. But he was definitely alive, gasping fitfully on the ground as Elias pushed Jon into his car and called emergency services. Elias hadn’t said anything for the entire drive back to Jon’s flat, and Jon himself was so guiltily sated for the first time in days that he couldn’t bring himself to do much but loll his head back and stare hazily out the window. It strikes him now, just how desperate he must’ve been if Elias himself had personally come out to get his hands dirty in fixing his mistake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since then, Jon had all but locked himself in the Institute, hovering by the canteen during mealtimes and picking at a piece of fruit or a granola bar, trying to get himself to not gag and reject the food outright. Refusing to venture out of his office most of the time, out of the fear that he’d attack one of his assistants or another random member of the Institute staff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The average daily blood intake for a fledgling vampire is about one pint. A perfectly manageable amount, relatively painless for both parties. Instead, you’ve chosen to be completely irrational about your situation, letting yourself get to the point where your feeding has become a danger to yourself and others.” Elias’ gaze is dark, heavy. Jon feels the full weight of the reprimand settle threateningly on his shoulders. “You think this is just another thing you can quit cold turkey, like the way you kicked your smoking habit, relying on your sheer stubbornness to carry you past the desires of your own body. It’s not that simple, this time.” He nudges the blood bag closer to Jon across the desk with a single finger. It quivers there, unassuming and accusatory all at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since you evidently can’t be trusted with your own health and safety, I suppose I’ll have to take care of it for you.” Elias gets up from behind his desk after Jon finally picks up the plastic packet, squishing it sullenly in his hands and watching the liquid sluggishly move around with the pressure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—I can take care of myself,” Jon mutters weakly, his last attempt at a plausible defense coming out pathetic and flimsy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Jon,” Elias places a hand on the small of Jon’s back. Suddenly, he’s shivering with the memory of lying prone on this very floor, half-dead by blood loss from cuts made by Nikola’s scalpel, baring his neck to Elias and his glowing green eyes. Elias leans down to whisper in Jon’s ear, the proximity of his mouth to Jon’s neck mirroring the way it was that night, during those tense final seconds before Elias had sunk his fangs into Jon’s skin and made him a vampire. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Can</span>
  </em>
  <span> you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the initial fight, Jon doesn’t put up any more protests about drinking the little packets of blood that Elias leaves for him. There’s something to be appreciated about the whole process, really, about how discreet Elias is, and the consistency with which they’re delivered. On his own, Jon tries again and again to convince himself that this is immoral, that he shouldn’t be taking any blood at all, much less blood specifically meant for medical treatment. But soon, he’s too accustomed to the steady diet to resist taking the next packet. He tries to comfort himself by thinking about what Elias had said about this only being a problem for fledgling vampires, and that the desire to feed would eventually taper off, but then he thinks about how Elias has been alive for centuries, and that “soon” could mean anything from within the next couple of months to a full decade, if that was the timeframe he had to work with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was, however, the problem that the blood itself tasted —  Well, he was loathe to say it tasted </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because it was blood, and it wasn’t even supposed to taste good in the first place, never mind how eagerly he had lapped up the hot salty mess when he’d bitten that man in the street. Jon finds himself drawing the morbid comparison between his little rations and television dinners, the offsetting taste of reheated blood lingering in the back of his throat the same way that microwave burn used to. Similarly, he sometimes can’t help thinking that it’s not...healthy, to only drink pre-packaged blood, only to bite back his complaints as the guilt of thinking about feeding off of actual people rises back into his consciousness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He also can’t shake the thought that Elias isn’t giving him...full servings, as it were. The awful, gnawing exhaustion that had wracked his body for the week that he’d starved himself was gone completely, and the hunger he felt now was more carefully honed. Elias had said a fledgling vampire averaged about a pint of blood a day, and, as he found when he gave in to the urge to measure the amount in each packet, Elias had been stringing him along with just about three-quarters. No doubt, this was his way of goading Jon into taking another human victim without letting his precious pet Archivist starve to death out of stubbornness. It takes him a day to mull over whether it would be better to confront Elias directly, or to let him believe that he was still blind to his manipulations. But in the end, his annoyance wins out, and as soon as the work day is over, he marches up to Elias’ office once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Jon can even register what he sees when he enters Elias’ office, he smells the intoxicating scent of fresh blood. It unnerves him that he knows what “fresh” means now, after having spent so long filling himself with blood that was so decidedly not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias is sitting primly at his desk, his expression completely calm and still as he finishes drawing the wickedly sharp letter opener in a straight line across the inside of his wrist. The sharp, strangely floral scent of his blood curls around Jon like a fog, and he moves forward with stilting movements, trying to resist even as he’s drawn inexorably forward to the delicious stripe of blood welling up on Elias’ exposed wrist. He’s discarded his jacket, neatly rolled up his sleeves, Jon sluggishly notices. At the very least, he can assume that this wasn’t a hasty decision on Elias’ part, that there was no outside danger here that he should be bracing against.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jon,” Elias’ voice is so...close, Jon thinks absently, before he realizes that he’s leaning across Elias’ desk, head already bowed towards Elias’ exposed cut, and he jolts back in shock. Precious crimson droplets continue to flow down Elias’ bare arm, and Jon suppresses a surprised whine when the tracks drip wastefully onto his desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What—what are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jon stammers, eyes still tracking the curve of Elias’ wrist when he gives it a small flick, watching intently as drops of blood bounce off of his pale skin. The hunger deep inside of him curls into a sharp hook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re here because you’ve come to some kind of conclusion about how I’ve been feeding you,” Elias says, and whatever had remained of Jon’s confrontation dies in his mouth. “Well? What about a taste? I’m sure that my status as a ‘monster’ in your mind should get rid of any moral compulsion you might be struggling against.” Even as Elias had been talking, Jon had lowered his head toward Elias’ wrist again, trapping his tongue behind his teeth to resist the urge to lap at the sanguine streak. But this...this was permission, wasn’t it? Jon feels as if his brain is coated in a sticky honey, blocking him from...thinking as fast as he should.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurry now, I do think the wound is closing,” Elias’ voice once again pushes its way through the haze of his thoughts, and it doesn’t take much more than that to get Jon to acquiesce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s delicious. The first drop of it on his tongue immediately has him lathing at Elias’ wrist, pressing a hungry, open-mouthed kiss to his skin as he licks at the hot trails of blood up and down his arm. If he had the right presence of mind for it, he might’ve wondered whether his desperation was because it was fresh, or because it was a vampire’s, or even because it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Elias’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>blood that he was now sucking greedily at, but as it is he could only focus on trying to get at every last thick drop. Even as the cut closes right in front of him, he desperately tries to lick and suck at the wound, watching it fade into nothing more than a slight bruise on Elias’ arm. He comes back to himself, shamefully and in pieces, as he pants, open-mouthed, at Elias’ now saliva-stained wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How was that?” Jon realizes suddenly that Elias’ other hand is curled up in his hair, supporting his head as his fingers scratch gently at his scalp, sending fizzy warm sparks down his spine. He presses into the touch, trying to push himself back into that calm fog of feeding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“G—good, it was good,” Jon blurts out, feeling heat rise to his cheeks with the bolstered effect of the additional blood in his system. It feels like a mistake, to have admitted that he enjoyed it, because now he finds himself eager for the next step of—whatever plan Elias seems determined to set in motion today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovely,” Elias says warmly, and then abruptly pulls away his hands and starts rolling up his sleeves, leaving Jon hovering awkwardly over Elias’ desk, his neck craning to follow Elias’ arms as they recede into his shirtsleeves. “You may leave now, then. I hope this was sufficient.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sufficient? I…” Jon fumbles for a way to say what he wants to without sounding like a whiny child, but his mind is still logy with the heady taste of Elias’ blood, and the words spill heavy and awkward out of his mouth. “I want more...I mean, there’s no way that’s enough, I did the math, and it should be about...one and three-quarters...really, two liters, if you round up, which would be a good idea, considering…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You...want more?” Elias stares down at Jon, and he can feel the burn of Elias’ gaze on him, lighting him hot all the way to his core. He finds himself holding back a whine again, consumed as he is with the fear that Elias will kick him out, leave him without another taste of his delicious blood, so filling and sweet and thick. Then, Elias tilts his head and gives him a kind smile, which somehow makes his insides pulse even hotter. “Oh, of course.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course? Jon perks up immediately, lifting himself up from his sprawled-out position on Elias’ desk and staring at Elias with renewed focus as he pushes his chair back and straightens out his legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then,” Elias gestures broadly towards his lap, and Jon gets the idea. “If you want more, please, feel free.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind barely has time to tell him this is another trap before he bounds forward, only catching himself after he’s already circled around to Elias’ side of the desk. He manages to calm himself down a bit once he’s standing in front of Elias, a flash of his usual prickly cautiousness surfacing as he hesitates before lowering himself down on Elias’ lap. But he does, even though he now has the grace to feel flustered and embarrassed about the situation. He takes in a shuddering breath, and tenses at the light touch at his back from Elias’ fingertips. It’s fine, he can still keep his professionalism about him, no matter the fact that “professional” behavior had been thrown to shit the moment he’d allowed Elias to take his life on his office floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This will be quick,” Jon says, a reassurance that undoubtedly seeks to comfort himself more than it does Elias, who is staring at Jon with a passively amused expression, one hand pressing firmly into Jon’s lower back and the other propping up his tilted head with an elbow on the armrest. With great effort to remain controlled and precise, he bends his head towards Elias’ neck. His fangs had already slid out when he’d slobbered all over Elias’ wrist, but they seem to practically leap out of his mouth now as he lowers them into Elias’ jugular vein. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first draw of blood is visceral and exquisite. Drinking blood has nothing on the feeling of sucking it out straight from the source, Jon realizes again and again as he pulls desperate mouthfuls from Elias’ veins. It’s warm and wet and raw, coating his tongue and teeth with delightful sticky red. It burns going down his throat into his stomach, hot and horrible as it fills him up to the brim, topping him off with every missing quarter liter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon, his conscious efforts to stay neat and proper as he sucks at Elias’ neck slowly crumble, especially when Elias makes this deep and happy moan, and throws his head back even further so that the vein is pulled taut under his skin and blood floods into Jon’s mouth in an unexpectedly powerful rush. Jon echoes Elias’ moan with one of his own, and continues to make small excited noises against his throat as he swallows another heaping mouthful of offered blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright Jon, go on,” Elias murmurs in a voice that is entirely too composed for the situation he’s in. It’s—too much, Jon dimly realizes, but he’s greedily sucking even harder at the vein, trying to pressure another wine-red mouthful into jumping onto his waiting tongue. Absently, he can feel Elias’ hand pressing down hard on his back, pulling him closer to him until there’s no longer any space between their chests. Jon’s arms have fully looped around Elias’ neck, and he can distantly feel himself grinding down hard on Elias’ crotch, eagerly jackrabbiting his hips forward with every soft groan that indulgently slides out of Elias’ mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sudden hiccup, Jon’s fangs retract and he pulls back from Elias’ neck, slightly confused with lack of forthcoming blood and dizzy with overindulgence. There’s blood smeared all over his lips and face, messy stains that he hadn’t even noticed in his growing excitement. Jon whines pathetically at the vague discomfort—the sting of the severed connection and the haze of the disorienting fullness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the mess you’ve made,” Elias admonishes, and Jon blushes miserably, squirming a little in Elias’ lap. “How disappointing. Now, I do believe we’ve talked about this. You really do need to learn a bit more...moderation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon is sure he means to say something like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe if you hadn’t starved me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>You told me to keep going!</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but all that comes out is a drawn-out whimper. Even in his daze of endorphins and bloodlust, he does get the sense that maybe it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> his fault this time. After all, he’d been the one to latch onto Elias with his hungry mouth and keep going past the point where he was sated. He buries his face in the crook of Elias’ neck, and he can’t help but lick the bite mark closed, even though the two pinpricks are already fading into his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I do need some of that back,” Elias muses, making a show as if he’s really thinking about it, before he pulls Jon upright in his lap again and leans forward towards his neck. Jon almost tilts his head to meet Elias’ lips, expecting a kiss for a split second before Elias’ actual destination is made clear. His blood-stained lips burn with the shame of anticipation. Elias smiles against his neck and traces the outline of his vein with the very tips of his sharp fangs, carving a light, fluttery path along his jugular before he finally decides to sink in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way that Elias drinks his blood is so refined, so tempered by centuries of feeding and so precisely practiced, that Jon melts completely in Elias’ embrace. He was already loose-limbed and pliant from his own indulgence, but each strong pull of his blood into Elias’ mouth leaves him shaking and panting, drowsed into submission while at the same time flaring with the need to press even closer to him. The rhythm of Elias’ sucks mock a heartbeat, blood pulsing and skipping through his veins, excited into motion in a way that’s unfairly titillating. Elias takes the time to lick at the wound between each mouthful, cleaning up as he goes and demonstrating a level of self-control that Jon had entirely failed to display. He’s aware that he’s keening, maybe loudly enough for Elias’ receptionist to hear outside the thick wood doors of his office, but he can’t bring himself to stop any of the small pitiful sounds drawn out from deep within him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s too soon when Elias pulls away again. Jon blinks blearily up at him, trying to hold himself back from saying something idiotic like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Keep going!</span>
  </em>
  <span> He’s sure he looks a state, cradled in Elias’ arms with blood streaked across the lower half of his face, eyes unfocused and glassy, hair mussed where Elias’ hand had curled into it as he had drank his fill. Before his mind can get the better of his body, he’s twitching and bucking his hips again, squirming hopelessly as if he can excite Elias back into action by the petulant demands of his body alone. He feels more than ever the weight of Elias’ previous admonishment, as he shamefully realizes just how incapable of “moderation” he really was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Elias is propping Jon up on top of his desk, an amused glint in his eyes. “Such a greedy little thing you are,” he murmurs fondly, bringing up a hand to caress Jon’s cheek. Jon closes his eyes and bites down on another whine, leaning into the touch. For a long breath, neither of them do anything as Elias rubs his thumb over Jon’s cheekbones. Jon is painfully aware of the erection straining against his trousers, and his face burns with shame. Distantly, he wonders about the feeding affecting him like this. Drinking from that man in the streets left him feeling hazy with satisfaction, but it was nothing like the fog that seemed to cloud his mind now. Nothing like the molten heat coiling through his insides at Elias’ touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jon,” Elias says finally, “look at me.” Jon shakes his head and tries to hide his face in Elias’ palm, but Elias won’t let him. “Look at me,” he repeats, but still Jon refuses. He doesn’t know why, but having to face the look of disappointment Elias must surely be wearing seems like the worst thing in the world. Elias sighs, reaching up to cradle Jon’s face in both of his hands now. Jon can feel Elias leaning in, the stolen heat of whoever’s blood he drank against his face, Elias’ nose brushing against his own, unneeded breath ghosting over his lips. “Jon,” Elias says one final time, mouth a hair's breadth from Jon’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon forces his eyes open. Elias is smiling at him gently, indulgently, and the relief that floods Jon at this is so stark he lets out a shaky breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. “There we go,” Elias croons. Jon flushes at how close their faces are. To his disappointment, Elias leans back out of his space, but then he starts playing with the hair at the nape of Jon’s neck, gently tugging at it and scratching his scalp lightly, and it’s all Jon can do not to let his eyes fall closed again out of bliss rather than shame this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elias,” he croaks, pausing to wet his lips, not missing how Elias’ gaze darts down to his mouth before returning to his eyes. “What’s happening to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias hums. “Vampires cannot usually feed from each other like we just did,” he explains. His fingers are still carding through Jon’s hair, and he cannot suppress a pleased shiver. “Oh, you could drain another vampire of any blood they may have drunk, of course, but it would not provide you with the nourishment you need.” Elias pauses to trace the shell of Jon’s ear with a nail, smiling at the stifled gasp he earns. “But a sire and their fledgling,” he continues airily, “that’s a different story.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“So you turning me,” Jon starts haltingly, trying to get his thoughts in order, “created a… bond between us that’s actually physical to this degree?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias doesn’t answer right away, fingers ghosting along Jon’s neck. “Yes,” he eventually says. “Being able to feed from each other like this is a useful tool in ensuring your fledgling’s survival, as well as a convenient way to deepen your relationship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Deepen your relationship,” Jon echoes. “Is that why this felt so—“ </span>
  <em>
    <span>good, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he doesn’t say, but from the way Elias’ eyes crinkle at the corners as if he’s fighting a smile, it’s obvious he’d heard what Jon meant anyway. “— different,” he finishes lamely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The freshly turned can often be, ah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>uncooperative, </span>
  </em>
  <span>or even downright disagreeable about their new situation. Not that you would know anything about that, of course.” Elias smirks down at him and Jon flushes, about to bite out an indignant reply before Elias continues. “In my time, I’ve come to see that most vampires find their end at the hands of an irate fledgling rather than a Hunter.” His gaze sharpens, and he presses down on the spot where he’d bitten Jon. The wound had already closed, but the flesh was still bruised, and Jon can’t stifle the whimper that claws its way up his throat. “I didn’t gift this to you lightly, Jon. An ill-chosen protégé means disaster, which is why I have avoided turning anyone so far.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon blinks, thoroughly caught off guard by that. Somehow, he’d assumed Elias must have sired multiple vampires before, old as he was. The corner of Elias’ mouth twitches. “‘Old as I am’? That’s kind of rude, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop looking into my head,” Jon hisses. Elias sighs at him, and this time he digs his thumb into Jon’s bite mark </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jon gasps and twitches, hips bucking against empty air, and he desperately wishes Elias would move his hands from his neck to where he needs them. He leans into Elias’ touch and watches his eyes go dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right now, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. You are yowling like a bitch in heat, Archivist. It’s quite distracting.” Jon’s eyes go wide, but before he can do more than open his mouth, Elias moves to twist a fist in his hair and tugs hard, and whatever he’d intended to say is lost in a stuttering moan. Elias repeats the motion, and it has Jon gripping the edge of the desk in a desperate last-ditch effort to keep himself from reaching out to Elias. Distantly, he hopes he hasn’t left claw marks in the wood. He’d made quite enough a mess of Elias’ office already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Elias murmurs, sounding amused, “you quite have.” He drops his hands down towards Jon’s and gently pries his fingers loose. Elias takes Jon by his wrists, and slowly raises his hands up so they lie against his chest, before letting his own rest on Jon’s hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon’s hands tentatively curl into the fabric of Elias’ shirt, and he lightly tugs at it. “Elias,” he breathes. “Please.” Elias smiles down at him, fondly, adoringly, and if Jon’s heart could still beat he knows it would’ve stopped. Jon cranes his neck up towards Elias, but his grip on Jon’s hips keeps him pinned to the surface of the desk, and he can’t reach. Jon lets out a pathetic whine and pulls harder, but Elias doesn’t move. Instead, he looks down at Jon through heavy-lidded eyes, lips curling into a smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you want this, then? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tell me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Jon makes a wounded little noise in the back of his throat, but he knows Elias won’t budge. He never has, not on this. He won’t give Jon what he wants unless he asks for it. Even his claiming bite hadn’t been an exception.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to steady himself, unnecessary as it is. Elias’ fingers lightly tap out some rhythm, occasionally pausing to rub soothing circles over Jon’s hip bones. Jon knows Elias knows he’s stalling, but he’s gracious enough not to comment on it. Or, more likely, he just enjoys watching Jon squirm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want,” Jon starts, tongue nervously flicking out to wet his lips. “I want—you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m right here, Jon,” Elias says pleasantly. “If you want me to do something particular, I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jon groans, letting his head fall against Elias’ chest. “I want you to k-kiss me,” he mumbles into Elias’ shirt, muffled by the fabric. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He half expects Elias to chuckle, to reply with a patronizing </span>
  <em>
    <span>if you insist, Archivist,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but instead Elias takes Jon’s chin in one hand, forcing him to look up. Elias swipes his thumb across Jon’s bottom lip, and his eyes seem to almost be glowing in the dark as he takes him in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this, Jon,” he breathes, and then suddenly Elias’ lips are on his own, gentle, searching, careful not to overwhelm. It’s exactly the way Jon likes. It’s exactly the opposite of what he needs right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon lets out a frustrated growl, hands fisting in Elias’ shirt in an effort to get him closer, and this time he willingly lets himself be pulled along. Still, he does nothing to deepen the kiss. Annoyed, Jon nips at Elias’ bottom lip, drawing both a delighted moan and a drop of blood out of Elias. Emboldened by the small thrill the blood suffuses through his body, Jon wraps his legs around Elias’ torso and pulls and presses them together until they’re wrapped up so tightly in one another that Jon can barely breathe for the heat of it. Jon keeps grinding his hips against Elias’ own, making very clear his intentions, even as he refuses to say it out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias, seemingly having also lost his patience, quickly strips Jon of his trousers and decisively spreads Jon’s legs apart, even as he weakly strains to close them in a sudden burst of shame. Unfazed, Elias tears open a packet of lube and slicks up his fingers, leaving Jon to wonder where he’d procured it from. Maybe he’d fliched it from the hospital, along with the bags of blood he’d gotten for Jon? The thought of Elias sneaking complimentary lube into his pockets is so absurd that he almost relaxes, just in time for Elias to push a finger into Jon and make him gasp and arch his back. Elias works him up slowly, methodically, until Jon feels like little more than clay to be molded by his teasing hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you need to be taught how to behave in a manner befitting your station,” Elias only starts to speak again after he’s pushed another finger up into Jon, right after the moment where he spreads them apart and spears him even deeper, so that all of Jon’s thoughts fly out of his head with an electric jolt. His tone is bold, slightly amused, and Jon can barely feel past the waves of pleasure to be annoyed by it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a minute before his tongue and his words are returned to him. “And—that would be—?” His jaw feels heavy with the dragging weight of his fangs, which had returned, unbidden, in his aroused state. He realizes with an embarrassed blush that he’s practically drooling as his mouth struggles to keep his fangs in check. A third finger had slipped in while he was trying to get his bearings, and now, apparently satisfied, Elias slides all of them out, agonizingly slowly and coaxing a drawn-out moan from Jon as he does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For starters, how about—” Elias abruptly grips his hips tightly and pushes into Jon, who arches back in surprise, then scrabbles to once again wind himself ever closer to Elias. “—Admitting what you are?” Jon opens and closes his mouth, his breath hitching and hiccuping before he finally manages to let out a sound so obscene that it makes him blush and screw his eyes shut as if he could escape his humiliation by looking away.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-what...what I am…” His voice is hoarse from moans that he didn’t want to admit that he was making. His eyes are wet when he blinks, prickling with tears at the corners. He’s still trying to adjust to Elias being </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside</span>
  </em>
  <span> him now, every part of his body trembling with the sweet shock of it. The effects of his earlier feeding still linger, and every part of Jon feels so unflinchingly </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’s hard to breathe with the sheer satisfaction of it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you said so bluntly, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>monster</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jon.” Elias leans over Jon and embraces him with a heavy, solid warmth. Jon spreads his legs wider, draws Elias closer, lets his shame trickle through his fingers and abandons it for his greed. “It wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!—A-ahhh—” Jon’s declaration is cut off as Elias leans down and licks at his bitemark again, the old wound soon blooming by Elias’ efforts into a rosy-red mark (now that he had the blood to spare for it), a sharp contrast to the pallor of his skin. Jon squirms and twitches and only manages to push him further down onto Elias’ cock as he wriggles with desperation and overstimulation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, I’ll take care of you,” Elias continues, breathy but still in control. Jon claws up his back, wondering if anything will get Elias to lose control just as he’s made him. All that he gets is a soft stifled groan and hot breath near his ear, teeth that gently bite at its shell. “I know that’s what you want. You want me to take full responsibility for you.” Jon can’t help but blush at that, at the truth of it, the collar slipping around his neck and the leash pulled taut at his own insistence. Every time he’d lashed out, wasn’t it just in service of wanting someone who could keep him in line? Even if it turned out that the line that Elias wanted him to walk was one of inhumanity, it surprises him how amenable he finds the thought when he’s warm and sated and seduced. Jon tips his head back and shakes with every thrust, mind going blissfully blank as he relinquishes his control entirely. He can’t tell how long it is before Elias is coming inside of him, the strange sensation making him gasp and shiver. He soon also tips over the edge, his cum staining the bottom of the rumpled collared shirt that he hadn’t had a chance to take off in his haste. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias breathes heavily, grasps Jon’s face in his hands and strokes at his cheek with one thumb. After a moment, he blinks his eyes fully open and straightens up a little, his hand still petting at the long strands of Jon’s hair. “I’m only asking you to do what you </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to, Jon. And I promise, you’ll be fine.” His voice is calm again, betraying little of the fact that he’d so thoroughly fucked Jon seconds prior. It’s a miserably comforting constant, that Jon could accuse Elias of murder and yell at him and drink his blood and come clenching around him, and he would still treat him as if he was conducting a particuarly smug performance evaluation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Back to breadcrumbs again, then,” Jon mumbles, and Elias smiles. He presses one last deep kiss to Jon’s lips as he lays there, dazed and still overwhelmed and unable to do much more except reciprocate as enthusiastically as he could. His lip had also been cut at some point, and the kiss stings at first before evening out into a pulsing ache. He closes his eyes and lets himself melt into the feeling of it. Elias is kind enough to clean him up and carry him to his office couch, which is where he wakes up however many hours later, to a quiet room and the moon shining brightly through the large window behind Elias’ empty desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim had spent the better portion of the last hour paying more attention to the video on his phone than the records he was impassionately rifling through. He didn’t know why he even bothered to keep up the pretense of work, if he wasn’t going to be fired anyways. But then again, he could feel that there was </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> looming on the horizon, related to Orsinov and the circus that had taken his brother, but somehow also related to Jon Sims, who was—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing right in front of him. Or, well, he could only assume that it was Jon, as sparsely lit as the Archives were, and especially in this section, which seemed to be a repository for stale and unhelpful statements. But whoever it was that had approached in between the stacks of books and papers had the same overgrown hair, the same owlishly academic glasses, so he was certain that it was Jon, it was just that he still couldn’t make out his face to see that nervous scowl or paranoid stare he was accustomed to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boss? Fuck, is that you? For a moment, I thought—” He cuts off as Jon leans forward, and Tim can finally make out the features of his face. His eyes are a brilliant bright green.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>fun fact: i wrote the first half of this in a wal-mart</p></blockquote></div></div>
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